


Zagreb

by FlyingMachine



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peril, Plane Crashes, alas poor GERTI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:09:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/pseuds/FlyingMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has to execute an emergency landing. It's hard to keep track of one's hat when one is crashing a plane.</p>
<p>Originally for a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zagreb

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme that requested a plane crash. This is a slightly cleaned-up version.

“I spy, with my little eye, something... white,” said Douglas. Honestly, it was like Douglas wasn’t even trying.

“Cloud,” Martin said. He scanned the cockpit, looking for something that wasn’t a dial, lever, button, cloud, or LED to spy. 

“I spy with my little eye something brownish black,” he said. 

“Coffee stain on the throttle lever.” Douglas didn’t even glance at it. Martin sighed.

“I may actually die of boredom,” Douglas drawled. “This flight makes that time we flew to Limerick seem downright breathtaking. What kind of person hires a private jet to haul his china collection to Croatia, anyway?”

“Oh come on, it’s not so bad. At least the weather’s good and Arthur discovered that all of Star Trek is on Netflix,” replied Martin.

“Yes, the other day he asked if I could beam him down for a snack while we were flying over Copenhagen, ” Douglas said. 

Martin cringed inwardly. “I do wish he would stop telling me to ‘use the force’ everytime the door on the lav sticks shut.” 

“Yes, how long are you going to let him think that’s a Star Trek reference?” asked Douglas.

“Only until it gets old,” replied Martin. Douglas chuckled, then frowned.

“Captain, I spy with my little eye something red and warning-light shaped.”

“Oh? Is it that bad bulb again? I just fixed that last week,” Martin said.

“We’re getting a strange reading from the number two engine. Looks like she’s losing power,” said Douglas. No sooner had he finished speaking did the entire aircraft shudder violently, followed by a series of deafening bangs. A chill ran down Martin’s spine and he was sure his heart stopped. The console lit up like an overzealously decorated Christmas tree.

“No readings from number two engine,” said Douglas. “Attempting to restart..” Douglas jabbed the engine ignition button, but nothing changed on the readout. “Restart failed. We need to put her down,” said Douglas. 

Martin hailed air traffic control. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India. Our instruments are indicating an engine failure, and we’ve lost power to the number two engine. Request emergency landing,” Martin said, trying to sound calm.

“This is Zagreb tower, we read you. Looks like you’re about fifteen minutes out. We’ll have the emergency crews on standby.”

“Thank you Zagreb, we copy,” said Martin. 

Martin’s hands were shaking as he flipped to the checklist for engine failure, and he noticed Douglas’ knuckles were white on the control yoke. The flight deck door slammed open and Martin turned to see Arthur, who was looking pale under the harsh flourescent lighting.

“Skipper, I know you probably know this, but, um, I think we’ve lost an engine,” Arthur said.

“Yes, Arthur, we’re aware. Also rather busy right now,” snapped Douglas. 

Arthur swallowed visibly. “Right. But, I just thought you might like to know that the plane is also, um, sort of on fire. And missing some pieces. But you probably knew that. But maybe, you could, um, land a little faster?”

Martin thought he might actually be sick. Even as Arthur was speaking, he could see tendrils of smoke wafting into the flight deck. 

“Douglas, you have control,” Martin said. He unbuckled his harness and pushed Arthur out of the way so that he could see into the cabin. 

Through the windows, he could see thick black smoke pouring from the burst engine, and orange flames were already licking around the wing on that side. Martin’s mind went completely blank, and he could only stare in disbelief and awe at the engine that was tearing itself apart, the fire fed by ruptured fuel lines. 

“Where’s Carolyn?” Martin demanded.

“She went to get the fire extinguisher, even though I don’t really think that’s going to work,” answered Arthur.

“Arthur, you and Carolyn buckle in. Douglas and I are going to do our best to land GERTI, but...but...” Martin couldn’t finish. His lips felt numb. A low buzz had taken up somewhere between his ears and he couldn’t seem to fit his thoughts together. He could only stare at the plume of smoke and flame just outside. 

“I know Skip. I’ll stay with Mum,” Arthur said, his voice cracking slightly. Martin realized Arthur was crying, and Martin wanted to cry too. Instead, he squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and stepped back into the flight deck, closing the door behind him. 

“How bad?” asked Douglas.

“We’re on fire. We’re not going to make it back to Zagreb. We need to find somewhere to put her down,” Martin said, appalled at how panicked he sounded. Martin buckled himself back in, and he felt almost as though he was watching himself over his own shoulder. How could his hands be so steady? He fumbled through his charts until he found the one he needed. 

Martin radioed Zagreb air traffic control. “Zagreb tower this is Golf Tango India. We’re not going to make it. We’re going to have to make an emergency landing.”

“Copy that, Golf Tango India. Good luck.”

Martin could see the patchwork of fields and roads below. Martin’s ears popped painfully and a wave of dizziness washed through him. They were losing altitude very fast. They were also doing it in a very lopsided fashion, and Martin was flung against his seat restraints as the plane lurched.

“It’s no good Martin. I’ve got no control on that side,” Douglas said. Martin’s mind called up the image of the flaming engine and shredded wing, and it did not take a lot of imagination to envision what the debris might have done to the flaps and slats. Or the tail. 

Douglas attempted to gain control of the badly skewing plane, and to Martin’s relief, he managed to halt the slow tilt so that they were flying more or less level. Unspoken between the two men was the obvious fact that they were still descending much too quickly and there was no way they were going to be able to reduce their speed enough to land safely. The ground was hurtling up at them, and Martin could hardly tear his eyes away.

“Okay. There’s a big field slightly northeast of us. No houses as far as I can tell. I think that’s our best bet,” Martin told Douglas as he put in the coordinates. He forced himself to look at Douglas, whose face was pale, jaw clenched tightly. 

“Alright,” replied Douglas. “I see it. We’re still going too fast, Martin.”

“I know,” Martin said, his voice almost a whisper. Douglas’ large, warm hand covered his on the throttle lever and squeezed gently.

“Call it, Captain,” said Douglas, his tone grim and quiet.

Martin switched on the intercom. “Carolyn, Arthur. Brace positions.”

Martin couldn’t breathe. Green rushed up at him and he could have sworn GERTI bounced, then slammed back into the ground. His chest felt crushed against his harness and the world turned over on its side. Martin’s head smacked something hard, and then it was over.

 

Douglas awoke because his nose itched. Irritated, he reached up to scratch it and was confused when he felt wetness against his fingers. He opened his eyes, and briefly wondered if he was still dreaming. He was on his side, which was confusing, because he could feel his pilot’s harness digging into his chest and shoulder. His foggy brain slowly informed him that he was on his side because the entire cockpit was on its side. 

Something wet hit him in the nose and he wiped it away, confused when he saw the smears of red on his fingers. Alarmed, he touched his nose again, but found it whole and still firmly attached to his face. So then where was he bleeding? His head didn’t hurt much, although he could tell he was going to be very, very sore when he tried to actually move.

Sluggishly, he worked out that if the blood was dripping down, it couldn’t be coming from him. He looked up, and found Martin dangling from his harness, his head nearly touching Douglas’ shoulder. His forehead was streaked with blood that dripped slowly from his temple and onto Douglas’ nose. His uniform shirt was soaked red, and Douglas couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

Reaching up, Douglas gently grasped Martin’s upper arm.

“Martin. Martin, wake up. Come on now, lad.” Martin was limp against his seat restraints. Douglas realized he couldn’t do much from his present position, and the hot, acrid smell of smoke was filling the flight deck. They needed to get out, quickly. Douglas looked down at himself, and although his uniform was torn badly across his right shoulder, he felt barely any pain from what had to be an ugly gash in the flesh beneath. _Adrenaline_ , his mind supplied. _Shock. You just crashed an aeroplane. Help Martin. Get out. Fire. Out._

Douglas freed himself from his harness and found his legs to be in working order, although his right knee felt badly twisted and rather unsteady. As far as he could tell, GERTI had landed at least partly on the side with the burst engine, which explained why Martin was dangling above him. Through the spiderwebbed windscreen he could see heaved-up dirt and grass that had once been a tidy green field. 

He stood on the ruined control panel and reached up again to touch the pulse point under Martin’s jaw, fingers slipping in Martin’s blood. Apart from the nasty cut on his forehead, Martin’s face and jaw were badly bruised and his lower lip was split. Martin’s pulse was there, barely. Douglas let out a long, shaky breath.

“Martin,” he said firmly. “Captain Martin Crieff. Martin!” He was shouting in Martin’s face, desperate to wake the injured man. Martin’s eyelids fluttered, and he slowly woke. He stared at Douglas as though he didn’t recognize him, and Douglas tried to stay calm.

“Martin, I know you’re hurt and confused, but we need to get out of here right now. Do you understand?” Douglas said. Martin nodded, his eyes drifting shut again.

Douglas squeezed his arm hard. “You need to stay awake. Do you know where you are?” Martin’s pale blue eyes slowly wandered around the ruined cockpit, not seeming to take anything in. Douglas noticed him flinch a little at the bright daylight, as though it caused him pain.

“Plane. GERTI. Douglas?” Martin’s voice was low, slurred mumble. His eyes were closing again, and he rested his head on Douglas’ shoulder.

“Martin, I need you to listen to me. Can you move your arms and legs?” Douglas tried to keep his voice calm. With effort, Martin, slowly twitched his fingers and bent his knees. 

“Good lad. Let’s get you down from there.” Douglas reached up and unbuckled Martin’s harness, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him as he slid clumsily out of the seat. It was getting hot in the cockpit, and Douglas’ eyes were stinging. Martin was a dead weight against him, his body trembling with shock. 

“Come on, Captain,” said Douglas, waiting for Martin to gain his equilibrium. “Time to go.”

 

Martin’s head was swimming as Douglas helped him down and steadied him on his feet. He wanted to vomit, and for a moment thought he actually might. Darkness closed on the edges of his vision. His chest felt crushed, as though his ribs had been snapped. Maybe they had. He could barely breathe. But something nagged at him, compelling him to move despite the nauseating pain in his head.

“Douglas we need to go,” he slurred. “Carolyn and Arthur. Need to make sure they’re okay.” He looked at the flight deck door, which was badly bent and clearly jammed shut. Smoke was rising from the smashed console, and Martin was struggling to breathe. They couldn’t stay here much longer. He needed to get them out, but how? The console was on fire, and the only other way out was clearly unusable. 

A pounding on the flight deck door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Douglas! Martin! Are you in there?” Carolyn’s shouted.

“We’re here, Carolyn,” replied Douglas. “Are you and Arthur all right?”

‘We’re fine,” snapped Carolyn. “Arthur’s got the emergency door open. Can you get out?”

Martin tried the door latch but it wouldn’t budge.

“Door’s stuck,” he said. “Carolyn, get off the plane. We’ll be right behind!” Martin heard Carolyn heave a sigh on the other side.

“Alright. Be careful boys. See you on the ground,” Carolyn said.

Beside Martin, Douglas was fighting to get the door open, but it proved resistant to his kicks and curses. 

“Ideas, Captain?” Douglas asked, in the same tone he might use to ask if Martin wanted any crisps or a cup of tea. Martin tried to concentrate, but his brain wasn’t working properly and his gaze wandered around the cockpit.

_I spy with my little eye, something.....red!_

The fire axe stood out in stark contrast to the smoky cockpit, and Martin snatched it down from the wall. Moving slowly, he placed his hand against the flight deck door to test for heat. It was warm, but not hot. 

“Stand back,” Martin instructed Douglas. Martin swung the axe as hard as he could, but the pain in his side was horrific, and the axe only made a shallow gouge in the frame. Martin doubled over, gasping. This wasn’t going to work.

“Get out of the way, Martin,” Douglas said.“You’re in no shape to do this.” Douglas took the axe from Martin and swung at the door catch until it gave way. The crash had bent the frame out of square, and it took both of them to wrench the door open.

Cooler air rushed past Martin’s face and he stepped carefully into the cabin. He helped Douglas through and let him lean against his shoulder as they got their bearings.

“Carolyn! Arthur!” Martin called. It hurt his chest to shout but he needed to make sure they were safe. 

“Martin, look,” said Douglas. “The emergency exit’s open. Looks like they’re out already.” Martin could only hope that was true.

“You go, I’ll make sure. Can you walk?” Martin asked.

“I”ll manage,” Douglas replied. “Quickly, Martin. She’s burning fast.”

Martin nodded. Smoke was already thick in the cabin. He watched Douglas stumble down the aisle, his body a shadow in the smoky cabin. He had spoken to Carolyn through the door, but it was his duty as the captain to make sure that everyone was out of the aircraft. Checking the galley took no time at all; it was a crumpled wreck. 

Darkness hovered on the edges of Martin’s vision and he knew he couldn’t stay any longer. His lungs and throat felt seared, and the nausea was rising again. He stumbled along the canted aisle, the emergency lights blurred and doubled. He encountered no bodies collapsed in the aisle either, and hoped that meant that Carolyn and Arthur had made it out of the plane. He tripped over a broken seat rail, and went down hard, tearing his palm on the jagged metal. The impact jarred his broken ribs and he could swear he actually felt the bone-ends grate. His vision spun and he gripped the broken seat for support as he pulled himself to his knees, then his feet. 

Almost there now. Just a little further. He could hear shouting outside. He pressed a hand to his side in a futile attempt to brace his ribs. He could see daylight streaming in from the open emergency exit, and then he was there, standing outside on the wing. He forced himself to look down, and he found Carolyn, Arthur, and Douglas standing below, looking anxious.

“Martin, thank God,” cried Carolyn from the ground. “Get down from there.” Martin edged to the end of the wing, as far away from the fuselage as he could get. The fire roared behind him. He’d always hated heights, and the irony of the pilot who was petrified of heights was not lost on him. He sat down hard on the wing. Arthur looked up at him, his arms held out comically as though he expected Martin to leap into them. His uniform was torn, but he didn’t look hurt.

“Come on, Skip. Come down. You need to come down from there.” 

“Y-y-yes, I-I know,” Martin stammered, his voice a cracked whisper. He bit his lip hard and let the pain help him focus as the panic that had never seemed to come before finally took over. 

“Martin,” shouted Carolyn, “are you afraid of heights?”

_Oh god yes._

“N-n-no! I just, I-I-” his throat seemed to close, and he felt dizzy.

“Martin,” said Douglas, his voice firm and commanding, if rather hoarse, “you have just survived an aeroplane crash, saved our lives, and escaped a burning wreck. Now is not the time to get vertigo. Do you understand? We all made it down just fine. Down with you. Now.”

“Come on Skip,” called Arthur. “You’ll be okay. It’s just a little jump. I jumped and Mum jumped and Douglas sort of slid and we’re all okay.”

Martin stared at the ground. Fifteen feet to safety. All he had to do was let go. His hands clenched on the slick surface of the wing, and he took as deep of a breath as he could manage. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed himself off.

The fall was dizzying, and when he hit the ground he nearly blacked out again as the shock jarred his head. Someone picked him up and dragged him away, and Martin fought to remain conscious, even as he felt his stomach clench. 

“Come on Skip, just a little farther, then you can lay down,” said Arthur near his ear. Arthur gave him a bit of a squeeze and Martin felt a telltale tingle behind his jaw. He tried feebly to push himself away but his strength was gone, and he simply collapsed to his knees and vomited until he was dry-retching. His head was pounding and tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t breathe, and he could hear his own gasps.

“Martin, calm down,” said Douglas, and something pressed hard against his forehead. It hurt, and he tried to flinch away. He was jostled briefly, and then his head was pillowed on something soft and warm. 

“Just be still Skip,” said Arthur. “Help is coming. I can hear sirens. Oh. They sent a helicopter!” Martin was still shaking, and he was vaguely aware of Arthur rubbing his shoulder. Martin managed to crack his eyes open, sore as they were, and he saw that Douglas was sitting beside him, holding a handkerchief to his forehead. Soft dark fabric under his cheek: Arthur’s trousers. They smelled of jet fuel and burnt plastic.

“D-douglas,” Martin stammered.

“Don’t talk, Martin,” said Douglas.

“I’m s-sorry.” He let his eyes slide closed again, glad he couldn’t see Douglas’ bruised, sooty face.

“For God’s sake, Martin, what on earth for?”

“F-forgot our hats. Won’t be much left of them now,” Martin said. Douglas opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur interrupted him.

“Easy, Skipper,” said Arthur. “You were brilliant. We’ll get you a new hat. It’ll be extra special since you crashed a plane and no one even died!”

_Yeah, a real achievement,_ thought Martin, and he let exhaustion pull him under.

Martin woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings. Antiseptic smell, hard bed, cool air on his face. Quiet, except for a steady beeping somewhere in the background. He kept his eyes closed and took stock of his body. 

He felt little pain, but his mind felt slow and thick, and he remembered when he’d had his appendix out ages ago. He’d woken to the same heavy feeling, an effect of the painkillers he’d been given. He walked backward mentally to his last clear memory: standing on GERTI’s wing looking down, Douglas and Arthur begging him to jump as fire singed his uniform. Before that, Douglas chopping through the flight deck door with an axe, and before that, _oh my God_.

He had crashed GERTI into a field. He was injured, and most likely in hospital. That would explain the distinct scent and the drugged feeling. Under the chemical haze he could feel the ache of his injuries, and he was grateful for the painkillers. What he remembered of the pain had been excruciating.

He wanted to go back to sleep, now that he knew he was safe and alive, but something tugged him closer to full consciousness. His right hand felt warmer than the rest of him, and he had a moment of horror when he thought it might be terribly burned. But the heat wasn’t that of a burn, only a gentle sort of warmth that started at his hand and travelled up his arm, easing the chill a little.

With a great effort, he cracked open his eyes and flinched as the dim light in the room made them ache and sting. His vision was intact, though a bit blurry from his long sleep. He made out a hand wrapped over his own and a slumped figure with its head on his mattress. Arthur, Martin’s sluggish brain supplied. And, if he looked past Arthur’s shoulder, he could just make out the sleeping form of Douglas in the other bed, blankets drawn up to his chin. His first officer looked pale and bruised, but his deep, regular breathing indicated peaceful rest. 

Martin felt sleep tugging at him again, and as he shifted a bit to get more comfortable, he noticed Carolyn’s laptop sitting open on the empty chair in the corner, the screen still lit. She hadn’t been gone long then. Her teacup was still steaming.

_Good_ , Martin thought dimly. _Everyone accounted for._

 

“Go fish!” said Martin as he gleefully put down his pair and watched Douglas’ expression sour. “I think you’ll find that I’ve won this round, Douglas.” 

Douglas sighed dramatically and picked up the cards to shuffle them. “I should know better than to play Go Fish with a maths whiz. Is Sir counting cards again?”

“Absolutely not. I only count cards in blackjack. Which you refuse to play with me,” Martin said.

“Because you cheat!”

Martin rolled his eyes. It was his third day in hospital, and he was finally feeling better physically. Douglas had been released yesterday, and Martin hoped that the doctor would clear him soon, since he was showing no signs of pneumonia or other complications from his injuries. He was deeply grateful for the constant company of Douglas, Arthur, and Carolyn, who seemed to spend more time in his hospital room than they hotel where they were staying nearby. Having his friends around helped keep his mind off the fact that only a few days ago he had crashed an aeroplane. His ribs gave an unpleasant twinge as he felt his chest tighten.

“Martin? You alright?” Douglas asked.

“Hmm? Oh, fine.” Martin tried to smile, but it felt fake even to him.

“Another game then, Captain? Perhaps something a little more high-stakes? Hearts? Texas Hold ‘Em?” Douglas asked cheerfully.

“Well, if you want to play Blackjack, I promise I won’t count cards,” Martin said. He hoped Douglas wouldn’t notice that he crossed his fingers beside his thigh. 

“I was thinking something like Uno would be more my speed,” Douglas replied. “Besides, you have a head injury, and you need to rest your little captainy brain.” Douglas pulled out the Uno deck and started to deal. 

Martin wondered exactly what Douglas thought he needed to rest his brain for; he wouldn’t be flying again for months at least, and maybe not ever, depending on the outcome of the crash investigation. Martin’s heart sank at both thoughts, and the anxiety that had haunted him since he’d regained full consciousness gnawed at the back of his mind. The door to his room swung open, and he looked up to find Arthur standing there, balancing two boxes and a large paper bag.

“Hullo chaps. Brought you some food. Mum said you were looking too thin after eating so much hospital food so she made me get Chinese. I hope that’s alright?”

“Oh yes. I’m famished, and Martin’s bored of jello and porridge,” Douglas said before Martin could answer. Arthur set down his boxes and opened the bag, which smelled delicious. Martin realized he actually felt hungry, now that his body had recovered enough that food didn’t make him feel nauseated. Arthur handed him a box of greasy noodles and fork. He dug into his lo mein, fighting a smile as he watched Arthur slurp his own noodles practically straight from the box. 

Arthur wolfed down his lunch and the half of Martin’s he couldn’t finish. Martin stared out of the window while his friends ate, wondering what was happening to GERTI. He must have been woolgathering, because it took him several minutes to realize Arthur was talking to him.

“...Skip?” Arthur asked gently.

Martin blinked. “Hm?”

“You okay, Skip? You seem a little...spacey.” Arthur looked worried, with a little crease between his brows.

“Oh I’m fine. Just tired,” Martin reassured him. He motioned to the IV still in the back of his hand. “It’s just the painkillers.” 

Arthur frowned. “Alright Skip. If you say so. Oh! I brought something that will make you happy.”

“Oh?” asked Martin. He doubted much of anything would make him happy, but it was nice of Arthur to try.

“Yeah! It’s brilliant.” Arthur jumped up and retrieved the two boxes he’d brought with lunch. Just then, the door swung open and Carolyn breezed in.

“Pilots, I have news. The crash investigators recovered our data recorders and had them analyzed. They wanted me to let you know that they feel you had no responsibility for the crash, and acted in a reasonable and appropriate manner. They’re moving their investigation to why our engine failed,” she announced.

Martin could have wept, and judging by the unguarded look of relief on Douglas’ face, he could tell his first officer felt the same way.

“That’s... t-t-that’s wonderful,” Martin stammered. He felt himself smile, even though it hurt his mouth where the impact with GERTI’s console had split his lip. Relief washed through him, so intense he thought he might start shaking. 

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Arthur. “I would hug you guys, but I know it would really hurt, so maybe later. But Mum, can I give them their presents now?”

“Yes, yes. Go on,” Carolyn said. She resumed her seat in the corner, tapping away at her laptop.  
Arthur handed Martin and Douglas each a large white box labeled with their names.

“I was really worried because you guys were hurt and stuck in hospital and I thought these would cheer you up,” Arthur said, all but bouncing with excitement. Martin exchanged a glance with Douglas and broke the seal on the box with his thumb. He lifted the lid and felt his throat close when he saw his present.

It was a Captain’s hat, perfect and new, and nicer than his old one had ever been. Across from him, Douglas was admiring his own new hat.

“Oh good, you like them. You were really upset about your hat, Skipper. You kept apologizing to Douglas about it. Well, when you weren’t being sick or passing out. I was really worried. You kept sort of whimpering unless someone held your hand, so I did because I didn’t want you to be afraid. I hope you don’t mind,” Arthur blurted. 

Martin cringed; he barely remembered anything between jumping off of GERTI’s wing and waking up in hospital. 

“I don’t mind Arthur. Thank you. This is lovely,” Martin reassured him. Martin put his new hat on, but flinched when it bumped against the still-healing gash in his forehead. The doctor had glued it shut so it wouldn’t scar, but it was still bruised and very tender. With a sigh, he took off the hat and set it aside.

“Guess I’ll have to wait a bit to wear it,” he said. “Not like I have anywhere to fly right now anyway. Poor GERTI. She was a good old girl.”

“Don’t worry Martin, there’s other fish in the sea. It’s not like she was your first or anything,” said Douglas. 

“Douglas!” Martin did his best to look affronted but couldn’t hold back his laughter. 

Douglas reached over and snatched Martin’s hat off of the side table and plopped it on Arthur’s head.

“Here you go, Arthur,” Douglas said. “Take care of that until Martin is ready to resume his duties as Supreme Commander.” 

Arthur grinned. “Awww Skip, now I’m just like you. Except taller. And less gingery.”

Martin leaned back into his pillows, careful not to jostle his ribs. He didn’t even mind the teasing, not after those horrible minutes in a burning plane when he thought he’d never hear it again. 

“Now gents, who’s up for a friendly game of Uno?” Arthur adjusted Martin’s hat to a rakish angle.

“Always, Arthur. But keep an eye on Martin here, he counts cards.” Douglas warned.

“I do not count cards! You can’t even count cards in Uno!” Martin protested.

“Well Skip, if I catch you, you’re not getting your hat back,” Arthur said, doing his best Serious Face.

Martin sighed. “Okay. Deal.” There was no arguing with Arthur’s Serious Face.

Arthur looked at Martin for a moment, then took off Martin’s hat and placed it very gently on his head, well away from his injury. It was crooked, and probably looked ridiculous.

“It belongs on you, Skip. Even if you do count cards.”


End file.
